


mariana, mirrors, and the marish mosses

by purplebard



Category: Magia Record: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story
Genre: Body Dysphoria, F/F, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person Limited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25498732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplebard/pseuds/purplebard
Summary: Her wish was for freedom, wasn’t it, and can you be free if your home is still standing? Fendt Hope, the sprawling mass that shielded her from the burden of being alive. Azusa House, self-explanatory. Mikazuki Villa, a place of ghosts whose sole inhabitant now walks alone. Mifuyu might think wryly to herself,I am quite good at ruining homes, and the happiness of anyone inside them.
Relationships: Nanami Yachiyo/Azusa Mifuyu
Comments: 16
Kudos: 21





	mariana, mirrors, and the marish mosses

**Author's Note:**

> this could be considered a follow up to the last thing i just posted, but i wouldnt say they need to be read in any particular order. simply put, my last post did not cure me of the yachimifu brainworms. here ya go!

The Labyrinth of Mirrors swallows Yachiyo in glass and silver.

It’s similar to the feeling of several cameras going off in your face – the flashbulb pops, and the room pastes itself together again in blurbs of indistinct color. Her reflection passes her in snippets and slivers. Distorted fragments of sofas, lamps, chandeliers and window frames rearrange themselves into blue and purple kaleidoscopic mosaics. If today was her first waltz through the Mirror Witch’s domain, she might be nauseous. But Yachiyo is no stranger to this witch, and she makes quick work of traversing deep into its first layers.

Long, tarnished swaths of glass reflect hints of magical girls both strange and familiar. They hide behind curtains and columns and peer out at her, giggling with each other, traipsing through the shadows. Faceless mannequins spin in circles, metal drawers of filing cabinets slide open and shut on their own, all little repetitive movements that distract her from the copies darting in and out of sight. In her periphery, Yachiyo catches the edge of Tsuruno’s fans, the white stripes of Rena’s skirt. They follow her at arm’s length – the copies know that she came here alone. She’s a harder target to fool, so they don’t attempt to lure her into a false sense of security. 

There’s the chittering of some bouncing, pouncing anteater-thing that _boing-boing-boings_ around in loops before whipping its tongue in Yachiyo’s direction. The labyrinth is full of pesky familiars like this – the copies like to keep them as pets, and they’re largely harmless if you stay out of their way. She slices it down the middle with a flying halberd, and it leaves behind a burlap sack stuffed with envelopes.

Yachiyo is here to see a copy in particular. She doesn’t know where it will be hiding, or how accurate it might be, but right now she’s not feeling picky.

The Mirror Witch cannibalizes herself. Deep within the darkest pits of the mansion, the witch is content with her occasional visitors. Her familiars duplicate the plucky magical girls who go frolicking through her labyrinth, and at the price of a little confusion and bewilderment, the halls are populated with the witch’s next meals. Every now and then, Yachiyo can see the shadows of the labyrinth dragging off random copies. A tendril shoots out from the darkness, wrapping itself around the ankle of a duplicate she doesn’t recognize. It screams and hollers all the way past the many barriers of glass, kicking its black shoes and swinging wildly at the air with its intricate shortsword. The labyrinth swallows the copy, and all is quiet.

Yachiyo believes that this place presents you with the copy you’re looking for. Though its map is constantly reinventing itself, like some massive office building that one still finds themselves lost in despite working there for years, you can generally suss out where to go based on gut feeling. The more you put your mind to something, the more likely that their shadow will emerge from the mirrors. She has no real reason to believe this – it just feels like the logical conclusion. It’s better than aimless searching. The labyrinth deepens, darkening into shades of cerulean and violet, and Yachiyo trains her mind on a single thought.

Snippets of black and white shoot past Yachiyo’s reflection in the mirrors. A puffball, a ribbon, a zipper, a glint of metal. She pauses in the center of the corridor, sweeping her gaze over their moving surfaces. She glimpses a lick of white hair, the silhouette of a trailing coattail.

“Mifuyu,” Yachiyo says to no one, “come out.”

And she does, but gradually. Coyly, cheekily and playfully, even as a fake. Yachiyo watches her chakram glide and skitter across the floor in circles, kicking up sparks as it winds around and around on the patterned marble. It wheels behind the surface of a tarnished mirror, where it disappears. Then she sees a sliver of a grey puffball, the edge of a fleece sleeve. Mifuyu peeks out from behind the mirror, a small smile playing across her face. Her gloved fingers whisk across her jawline.

“Yacchan.” demurs the copy, “you found me.”

The voice is convincing. Yachiyo’s heart catches in her chest as she takes a step forward. Any joy she feels from seeing Mifuyu’s face is dampened by embarrassment. _It’s just a copy_ , she must remind herself. _She isn’t real. Don’t lower your guard._

“Are you going to speak to me, or are you going to hide?” Yachiyo asks.   
Mifuyu pouts. “Yacchan, you’re being sour,” she whines. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”  
“Come out where I can see you. I just want to talk.”

That part isn’t a lie, at least.

Mifuyu’s duplicate is desaturated. A little frail, a little waxy. It must have been made quite some time ago. Maybe one of their visits to the labyrinth with Kanagi and Mitama, scheduled trips designed to ensure the witch’s subjugation. For whatever reason it hasn’t been killed or eaten yet, aimlessly wandering through the labyrinth’s layers. That, too, is very Mifuyu-like.

“I thought you had given up looking for me,” Mifuyu’s copy says. It comes out into the hall, but places its chakram in front of its feet defensively. “You really ought to be more careful, traveling this massive place without me. What if we had been separated forever?”  
“I’m sorry. I was searching for you as best as I could.”  
“Were you really?”  
“Come out, Mifuyu. Let’s talk.”

Yachiyo stares evenly into the copy’s eyes. It bats its eyelashes in a cutesy, flirtatious sort of way – not the way the real Mifuyu would regard her. Perhaps if Mifuyu were more confident, more self-assured. The mannerisms are inaccurate, but this duplicate is otherwise a good approximation. The light and wispy eyebrows, the cowlicks in her hair, the faded freckles on her shoulders, the nervous way she slips her thumb into her sock to pull it farther up her leg. Her heart pounds again. _Do not lower your guard,_ she reminds herself.

“Mifuyu, you didn’t hide from me on purpose, did you?”  
The copy blinks its doe eyes. “What would make you think that?” it asks.  
“I was so certain that you were behind me this entire time. Did you run away on purpose?”  
“Of course not, Yacchan. Don’t you remember? _You_ left _me_ behind.”

This stings. Yachiyo’s hand twitches to her ribs, where she clutches the crescent moon of her soul gem.

“But if you were to run away, if you were to hide from me, what would be your reasoning?”  
“You’re confusing me, Yacchan. I thought you just wanted to talk.”  
Yachiyo clenches her jaw. The copy’s voice is too sugary, too amorous. “We’re partners, aren’t we?  
“Certainly. I would sooner wither away than leave your side, Yacchan. Don’t you know that?”  
A tear clings to her eyelashes; Yachiyo blinks them away. “Do you mean it, Mifuyu? Sincerely?”  
“Of course I do. You know I do.”

The disparities are piling up. _You came here to remember her face_ , Yachiyo tells herself. _You came here so you wouldn’t forget what she looked like. You didn’t come here to play word games with a mindless copy._ This encounter has gone on long enough. If she doesn’t end it now, the duplicate might get the better of her.

“Mifuyu, let’s go home.”  
“Already? But we’ve scarcely scratched the surface. Let’s keep going.” It blinks its glassy doll eyes, deeply set into its waxy face. “With you by my side, perhaps we’ll even get to see the witch herself.”  
“We’ve been here for far too long, Mifuyu. You know the drill by now. Let’s go home.”  
“Only if you hold my hand,” it replies, reaching out for her. “That way, I won’t lose you again.”  
Her heart pangs. “All right, Mifuyu. Take my hand.”

It happens very quickly, with all the swift finality of ripping off a bandage. Mifuyu’s copy goes to take Yachiyo’s hand, and before it can raise its chakram, Yachiyo spears it through with her halberd. It makes a choked noise, its teal eyes glazed over with tears.

“Yacchan,” it whispers, “Yacchan, you said…”

It dissipates into a black vapor, all of her finely tuned details melting away. Yachiyo takes a deep breath. _It’s not real,_ she assures herself. _It isn’t real, you know it isn’t real._

Many things these days don’t feel real. At least she remembers Mifuyu’s face.

The Mirror Witch’s labyrinth has a straightforward exit. A series of heavy wooden doors lead out into the mansion lobby, and peepholes with wrought iron bars reveal the antechambers behind them. Yachiyo must bash them all open with the blunt end of her spear, and after a while she steps out of the labyrinth’s whorling entrance. _Thank you for your patronage, please come again._ She breathes a sigh of relief to be free of its heavy, oppressive weight. Exiting a labyrinth feels like walking into an air conditioned room after being in the sun all day. 

“Yachiyo,” Mitama scolds from the bottom of the staircase, “I told you it was a bad idea.”  
Yachiyo flips her hair and allows herself to transform out of her magical girl costume. Adjusting the position of her soul gem’s ring, she replies, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“A veteran like you should know how fruitless Mirrors hunting is,” she clucks. “You look pale as death, Yachiyo. Did you find what you’re looking for?”

Yachiyo goes to the coat rack by the door and takes her handbag. For a witch’s labyrinth, the lobby is surprisingly secure. Many magical girls looking for a bit of adventure leave their backpacks and wallets by the front door. She slings the bag’s leather handle over her head.

“Does it matter?” she says.  
“My, my, we are feeling especially aloof today, aren’t we?” Mitama huffs. She relaxes into a wingback armchair that looks like it belongs in a museum. A textbook is propped open on her lap, and she sets it away on a side table. “If you keep disturbing the familiars with that cold attitude, you might not come out unharmed next time.”  
“I got what I came for. That’s all,” Yachiyo snips.

As she goes to open the decrepit mansion’s front door, Mitama shouts one last quip at her.

“A copy can’t compare to reality,” she says. “Hunting rumors is one thing, but don’t get lost in fiction altogether.”

Yachiyo pauses in the doorway, but leaves without saying another word.

  
  


☽❂☾

  
  


When Yachiyo is thirteen, Mifuyu makes an unusual request.

They’re in her room, sitting on the rug and doing as thirteen-year-olds do. Yachiyo is painting her toenails, and Mifuyu is looking into a hand mirror as she puts on sparkly lipgloss. Nothing her parents would allow her to wear, because it is cheap and tacky and not very ladylike. Yachiyo’s grandmother allows her these small indulgences, otherwise she will be spurned by her fellow models. Middle schoolers can be awfully cruel, especially when they’re in the modeling business.

“Yacchan,” Mifuyu says, “have you ever been kissed before?"  
Yachiyo chokes on air. She accidentally paints a swath of pink across her big toe. “What?”  
“I was just wondering.”  
She takes a tissue and wipes the nail polish from her foot. “Do you think I have?”  
Mifuyu smacks her sparkly lips and sets the mirror down. “I don’t know. I guess so.”  
“Why?”  
She shrugs. “You’re a model, and you’re really pretty, and lots of people at your school like you. Am I wrong?”  
“Being a model doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Yachiyo mumbles. She focuses on painting her nails to still the beating of her heart. “It’s just a job.”  
“Sure, it’s just a job, but you must get a lot of attention from it.”

That much is true. It _is_ just a job, an after-school pastime that she thought would be an easy and effortless way to support her grandmother – some small way of repaying her for all the years she’s taken care of her. But yes, Yachiyo gets a lot of sideways glances at school. Once or twice a week, there is a confession letter tucked into her locker, just like something you’d read in a manga. Once or twice a month, a boy will approach her after class with sweaty palms, their eyes darting every which way. Yachiyo smiles and says _I’m sorry, I’m focused on school right now, but you are very brave for telling me._ This satisfies most of them, and they walk away feeling courageous and masculine despite being turned down.

“It’s just a job,” Yachiyo repeats. Not as easy as she thought it would be. Hard enough to stake her life on, even. But just a job.  
“I don’t think I could ever be a model,” Mifuyu sighs. “Mother says I don’t have the body for it. And I wouldn’t want boys looking at me, anyway.”  
“Not even cute ones?” Yachiyo teases.  
“No, no, not even the _cutest_!” Mifuyu says with a retching sound. “Boys really are awful, I’m glad I go to a girl’s school. None of them are anything like they are in the books.”  
“You read too many books, that’s why your expectations are so high.”  
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having standards,” Mifuyu sniffs.

Mifuyu takes a bottle of silver nail polish and begins painting her nails. She’ll wash it off before she goes back home, before her parents can chastise her for being cheap and tasteless, but for a little while it will make her happy. She hums to herself for a while, then Yachiyo speaks again.

“There really aren’t any boys at the studio, you know. I only work with girls for the most part.”  
“That’s lucky. I can’t think of anything nicer than that, just being surrounded by pretty girls and beautiful clothes, getting to wear makeup and heels…” Mifuyu trails off, wiping polish off of her finger. Her mouth is tugged into a frown. “I guess it would only be fun if someone were as pretty as you.”  
“I think you’re pretty, Mifuyu.”  
“Sorry Yacchan, I was just fishing for compliments.” She flashes her a quick smile. “I know modeling must be pretty hard for you if you had to make your wish about it.”

Yachiyo thinks back on the past year, all the different girls who influenced her wish. There was Mirai and Junko, Ichika and Chise, and a number of short-lived girls whose names she doesn’t remember. Junko dyed her hair often and was sensitive about her weight. Ichika’s parents pulled her out of her contract when they found out she was being bullied. Mirai was never satisfied with being in newspaper ads, and gradually transitioned into vocal training so she could be a local idol. Their faces all blur together. Now, Yachiyo doesn’t much bother with befriending the girls in her network. None of them are built to last. Not like she is.

“It’s getting easier,” Yachiyo says with a shrug.  
“Mother thinks I should pick up some sort of hobby that will make me look more appealing to suitors,” Mifuyu says. She says this glumly, her head lowered as she paints her nails. “Not like modeling – she’d never let me do _that_. Something feminine, like embroidery, or violin.”  
“She’s not thinking about suitors already?” Yachiyo asks, her mouth hanging open in awe.  
“No, not yet. They promised me they’d wait until I was eighteen. But she says it never hurts to be prepared.”  
“That’s utterly stupid.”  
“I know! I hate knowing that she thinks of me like that already. Someone’s _wife_. Ugh!” Mifuyu shudders.  
“Would you ever want to get married?”  
She stretches her legs. “Maybe? It sounds so nice in the books… having someone dote after you and love you til you’re old and gray. That’s pretty silly though, isn’t it? Real life isn’t like that. The kind of wife my mother wants me to be is the convenient kind. I wouldn’t be marrying them because I love them. It would just benefit our families.”  
“You don’t really have to get married if you don’t want to.”  
Mifuyu smiles sadly. “If I ever want my family to accept me, I think I have to.”

For a while they idle in silence. There’s the distant sounds of traffic from the street, buses starting and stopping, helicopters overhead. Downstairs, Yachiyo’s grandmother is crocheting and watching the nightly news. The floor vents are humming, and Mifuyu taps her foot rhythmically on the rug. Then she speaks again.

“The reason I asked if you had been kissed before,” she says meekly, “is because I’m not sure what to do when my mother starts making me meet people.”  
Yachiyo’s heart lurches. “You have five years to figure it out, Mifuyu.”  
“I know. But I think it’s going to keep weighing on me until then.”  
“Because you haven’t been kissed?”  
“Yes.” Mifuyu fidgets, then puts her nail polish away. “If you _had_ been, I could’ve gotten some pointers.”  
“I can’t imagine there’s much to it, it’s just putting your lips together,” Yachiyo replies.  
“So you _have_ been kissed before.”  
“No.”  
“Oh.”

Mifuyu fidgets further, her face bright pink. Yachiyo looks steadfastly at the floor, her hair hanging in front of her face so Mifuyu can’t see her expression. _Please don’t ask me,_ she tells herself. _Please don’t ask me, please don’t ask me._

“Well, if neither of us know how…”  
 _Please don’t ask me, please don’t ask me, pl–  
_ “Would you mind trying with me? Just so we both know what it’s like.”  
_Dammit._ “Are you sure?”  
Mifuyu blushes. “You don’t _have_ to, I was just… oh, I don’t know what I meant. I’m just being silly.”

Yachiyo’s heart feels like it’s trying to make a prison break from her chest. Not because she _doesn’t_ want to, not because she’s grossed out, but because she _does_ want to. Sure, it could be fun. It’s just a test, what’s the harm? She would be a good friend to go along with it. It doesn’t mean anything. Such are the thoughts that buzz through her head faster than she can process them.

“I guess… if it will make you feel better.”  
Mifuyu blinks. Clearly, she didn’t expect ‘yes’ for an answer. “Really?”  
“It seems to be bothering you, so… if it’ll help, then sure.”  
“Oh. Um, okay. Do you…? I mean, uh.”

What follows is perhaps the most stilted and graceless human interaction in documented history. They reposition themselves so that they’re kneeling in front of one another, their hands fidgeting in their laps. Yachiyo is used to being looked at – examined, even – but it is almost unbearable to have Mifuyu looking at her like _this_ , like anything other than her friend and teammate. And to look at Mifuyu like this, straight in the face, with the intent of… oh, this is much more difficult than witch hunting. What on earth has she gotten herself into?

Mifuyu parts her lips. “Ready when you are,” she says in a small and squeaking voice.  
“It was _your_ idea,” Yachiyo protests.  
“You’re right, you’re right. But aren’t boys usually the ones who kiss girls, and not the other way around? And if I’m the girl in this scenario....”  
“Again: you read too many books.”  
“Oh, I _know_ !” Mifuyu laments. “I know, you’re right. Are you, um. Are you ready, then?”  
Yachiyo’s chest is pounding. “I guess so.”

Slowly, awkwardly, with all the elegance of a thirteen-year-old homebody, Mifuyu leans forward and gives Yachiyo a peck on the side of her mouth. Yachiyo squeezes her eyes shut, and keeps them closed until she feels Mifuyu settle back on the rug.

“Was that okay?” Mifuyu asks.  
“It was fine,” she says.  
“I _knew_ I’d be horrible at it!”  
“It wasn’t horrible, Mifuyu, it was perfectly normal. You really shouldn’t be worrying about this sort of thing at our age.”  
“Thank you, Yacchan. I’ve just been anxious lately. Thanks for humoring me.”  
“It’s okay. Here, let me pay you back.”

She doesn’t intend to do this – it just happens. Without warning, Yachiyo tucks her hair behind her ear, then leans forward to kiss Mifuyu right on the lips. Her mouth is still sticky with sparkly lipgloss, and Yachiyo pulls away, she can taste the cheap, artificial cherry flavor. Mifuyu freezes up. _Oh no,_ Yachiyo thinks, _I’ve completely freaked her out,_ but after a moment her shoulders relax and she begins to titter with laughter.

“You’re right, Yacchan, I’m just being silly.”  
“Was _I_ horrible?”  
“No, of course not. You were as graceful and majestic as you are in all things.”  
“You’re teasing me, Mifuyu.”  
Mifuyu breaks into nervous laughter, which makes Yachiyo crack up, too. “I’m not teasing! I really mean it. Thanks, Yacchan. I feel a lot better now.”

That’s a relief to hear, but Yachiyo doesn’t know if she herself feels any better. Her chest hurts, almost as if she’s disappointed in some way. She can’t pinpoint where the feeling is coming from. An itch has been scratched – she was awfully curious about what it would be like to kiss Mifuyu, even just as a friend might do, and now she knows. Somehow, though, it’s not enough.

Mifuyu continues painting her nails, and Yachiyo stares at the floor. Below them, the TV is droning on just as before.

  
  


☽❂☾

  
  


Felicia is kicking her feet back and forth, back and forth. It’s a distracted compulsion she has, along with pencil-chewing, foot-bobbing, skin-picking, hair-pulling, and teeth-grinding. The request to “sit still” and “stop moving” sails right over her head each time. It makes it very difficult for Yachiyo to get her ready for anything, but Mifuyu doesn’t have an issue with it.

“Felicia, stop kicking,” Yachiyo sighs from the doorway. “Mifuyu won’t be able to braid your hair nicely if you keep rocking like that.”  
“Ah, it’s all right, Yacchan,” Mifuyu hums. She speaks out of the corner of her mouth, two bobby pins poking out from between her teeth. “I was an anxious child too, you know.”  
“You were a nail biter, not a kicker.”  
Mifuyu pauses to waggle her fingers. Her nail polish is chipped all over. “I’m still a nail biter, Yacchan.”  
“I know, and you’re teaching Felicia bad habits.”

Felicia isn’t listening to any of this. Her head is lowered as she plays some sort of game on her phone. The volume is lowered, but Yachiyo can hear the sounds of explosions and the clash of metal against metal.

“Felicia, pick your head up, please,” Mifuyu says.   
Though she was spaced out just a moment ago, she immediately does as Mifuyu says. Felicia glances behind her shoulder. “Are you almost done?”  
“For each time you ask me that, I am going to take a minute longer,” she teases.  
“Don’t forget that she has to have breakfast first,” Yachiyo says. “You need to eat soon, or you’re going to miss the bus.”  
“If I miss the bus, you can just drive me,” Felicia huffs.  
“Yacchan is not driving you to school, Felicia,” Mifuyu says, “or else you’ll never be ready in time for the bus ever again.”  
“What’s the point of Yachiyo having a car if she’s not going to drive it!”  
“It is not my car, it is my grandmother’s car, and it is strictly for emergencies,” Yachiyo says, folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Mifuyu is right. I’m not going to reward your poor time management with being your chauffeur.”   
“What’s a show fur?” Felicia asks.  
“There,” Mifuyu says, satisfied. She sticks a couple of bobby pins into Felicia’s fine blonde hair, then fluffs it out a bit. Taking both of her pinky fingers, she frames Felicia’s face with a few strands on either side. “Now, aren’t you the cutest! You’re all done. Hurry and eat before you leave.”  
“‘Kay!” Felicia shouts. “Thanks, White Lady!”  
“Felicia, how many times do I have to tell you–”

No use trying to scold her – Felicia has already barreled out the door and down the stairs. In the kitchen, they can hear her throwing open the pantry door.

“I think she’s gotten less patient with me now that you’re here,” Yachiyo exhales. “You’re still the good cop after all this time.”  
“I played the role of guidance counselor for the Wings,” Mifuyu replies with a shrug. “I’m just accustomed to being gentle when I’m speaking with children.”

Just then, Sana shuffles into view. Yachiyo knocked on her door a few times throughout the morning, but she still isn’t dressed for school. Her movement disturbs the pink and purple sign hanging from the doorknob that reads Mifuyu’s name – a late-night project with craft paint and glitter that she once completed with Tsuruno and Momoko. Sana looks pained as she stands beside Yachiyo in the doorway. 

“Good morning, Sana,” Mifuyu offers. “Aren’t you going to school today?”  
“That’s what I wanted to ask,” Sana says meekly. “I don’t think I feel very well, Yachiyo.”  
“What’s the matter?” Yachiyo rests the back of her hand against Sana’s forehead. “Your temperature feels fine.”  
“My stomach has been hurting since last night. Can I just go back to bed?”  
“You haven’t tried healing yourself? Iroha hasn’t left yet, I could call her upstairs to help you.”  
Mifuyu shakes her head. “Ah, Yacchan, being sick is what makes us magical girls feel like normal people. Even if it isn’t very pleasant.” She stands and walks to the door, rubbing Sana’s shoulder. “Will you be missing a lot of work at school?”  
Sana wrings her hands. “Um… well, I still have to study for Ms. Higashida’s test, but…”  
“Oh, she’s the easiest English teacher of the whole bunch. I’ll help you study, Sana,” Mifuyu says. “Why don’t you go back to bed, and I’ll pick up your homework from Tsukuyo, okay?”

She still isn’t used to such kindness from a former Wing, but she accepts because it’s expected of her, and Sana is a religious rule-follower. She meanders back to her room, and Mifuyu whips out her phone to text Tsukuyo. As she does so, Yachiyo watches her reflection in the floor-length mirror propped in the corner. It’s collected a fine layer of dust, and Yachiyo resists the urge to remind Mifuyu to clean her room.

It’s only been a month since Mifuyu has moved back into the villa, and it seems like the dust has finally settled. Mifuyu has seamlessly resumed her role as the gentle, yielding counterpart to Yachiyo’s badgering brand of quote-unquote “parenting.” She’s the one Felicia runs to when she wants to stay up late, she’s the one Sana relies on when she’s struggling in an infamously difficult Mizuna Girl’s School class. And when Ui begs for permission for her new friends to sleep over, Mifuyu stands behind Yachiyo and lightly tells Ui that one more child in the house might bring the whole roof down.

Yachiyo forgot what a relief it was to have another adult at her back. With Mifuyu in the house, Tsuruno doesn’t have to pantomime the part of Felicia’s firm but fair father. With Mifuyu in the house and Ui safely with her sister, Iroha doesn’t have to force herself to act older than she is. There is still much to be done – Alina Gray is still missing, there are rumors of former Feathers organizing themselves into something new, and the future is still uncertain. But even if it’s just for a brief window of time, Yachiyo is grateful that her team can take a small respite.

“I should make sure the girls make it to the bus stop,” Yachiyo says. “Do you still want to go out for lunch?”  
Mifuyu finishes tapping out a text and puts her phone in her back pocket. “Sure, let’s eat in Mizuna so I can get Sana’s homework. Then I’ll help her study, if she’s up for it.”  
“Are you qualified to tutor someone in English?”  
Mifuyu shoves Yachiyo’s shoulder lightly. “Oh, Yacchan! I graduated, didn’t I?”

And so the morning routine continues. Yachiyo barks at Felicia to wash her dishes before she goes to school. She leaves the house with the Tamaki sisters, and Yachiyo watches them leave through the blinds in the living room. Upstairs, Mifuyu is bringing Sana a glass of water and a plate of toast. Later, they’ll go to lunch, and in the evening they’ll sit at the breakfast bar with their mugs of coffee and chat about their plans for the next day.

They run a pretty tight ship, Yachiyo thinks. 

It’s hard to believe that things were ever any different, that Mifuyu wasn’t always here. It feels like a reward for a job well done. It feels like peace.

  
  


☽❂☾

  
  


Mifuyu hates posing.

Okay, addendum: Mifuyu does not like being stared at.

“You’re letting your chin droop,” Alina barks from behind her easel. Mifuyu flinches. “I’m not going to get a satisfactory result if you keep deflating like a popped balloon.”

She speaks in a heavy accent, her speech interspersed with random quips of English. It’s not uncommon for Alina to spout off some obscure foreign phrase that Mifuyu doesn’t understand, leaving her to stand and nod awkwardly at whatever the hell she just said. For all intents and purposes, Alina Gray is a mystery. 

Mifuyu has relied on Wikipedia articles and online interviews to learn anything about her. Archives of her past work, pictures of her parents flashing bright smiles in front of museum exhibitions. Alina’s father is an English-born curator whose own father is a Kamihama native. Her mother is an interior designer, born in the USSR and raised in Belgium. They meet and court one another at various soirees in the French and English art scenes, marrying shortly after her mother learns she’s pregnant. As a baby, Alina is toted along to London, New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Berlin, Venice, Moscow. At age nine, she’s painting with blood and mud. Therapy is short-lived, especially as her parents revel in the prestige that Alina’s gruesome art brings upon the family. Now that they’ve traversed the western world, the Grays have settled back into Kamihama. Or at least Alina has – judging by their social media presence, Alina’s mother is in Brussels, and her father is in Paris. 

Alina doesn’t know that Mifuyu has taken the time to study her life. It’s just that the eldest Magius is such a loose cannon that Mifuyu feels that she has to understand why she is the way she is. Her conclusions? Alina Gray is a deeply disturbed individual whose parents have failed at every turn to perform damage control on their child’s mental health. _The sick human mind produces some of the most profound art known to history_ , Alina’s father once said in an interview. Little did he know that Van Gogh produced his best work in a psychiatric ward.

“Mifuyu,” Alina snaps, “your chin. Pick it up.”

Mifuyu’s back hurts, and she’s lost feeling in her legs. She focuses on a spot on the wallpaper, which is scalloped and traced with iridescent patterns. The shelves of Fendt Hope’s countless parlors are lined with raggedy teddy bears. They slump against one another, their button eyes staring in different directions. 

“I thought you were working on another series,” Mifuyu says. She tries not to move her head as she talks. “How does sketching me contribute to that?”  
She scoffs. “It’s called a ‘warm-up.’ I cannot work on my _rigor mortis_ series without the occasional distraction.”  
“Do you plan on finishing any time soon? My feet are numb.”  
“I have to keep my figure drawing skills sharp,” is all Alina says. She bites her lip, lifting her thumb and closing one eye as she looks between Mifuyu and whatever she’s drawing. Then she keeps working without offering an answer.

Mifuyu scarcely sees any of the finished products, and she’s satisfied with that. When Alina is done sketching, she shoves her papers into a big brown portfolio and tucks it away. She doesn’t get to hold the paper and marvel at the resemblance. The first few times Alina insisted on drawing her, when her flattery knocked Mifuyu off guard and she couldn’t find it in herself to say no to a Magius, much less a famous young artist, she tried to sneak a peek at the final work. But Alina doesn’t draw Mifuyu to pay her a compliment. She draws her because she is _aesthetically ideal, a modern Aphrodite, have you ever seen Titian’s reclining Venus’?_ She spent the next several minutes absentmindedly babbling about Bruegel and Botticelli, but Mifuyu’s head was spinning. Accepting compliments has never been her strong suit.

She still hates being stared at, though.

Mifuyu’s phone buzzes on the side table, and she twitches instinctively before remembering that Alina will bark at her if she reaches for it. She tries to read the notification from the corner of her eye, but it’s too far away. She recognizes Mitama’s picture, but that’s all.

“Do you–” Mifuyu starts.  
Alina cuts her off. “Don’t change your face. I’m working.”

Mifuyu sighs and resumes staring at the wall. A grandfather clock is ticking softly, reminding her of the one in Mikazuki Villa’s living room. It’s a sad and nostalgic sound, and as the pendulum swings back and forth she can see the reflections of teddy bears in the glass. If Mifuyu could peer into the future, she might feel a pang of remorse for razing this place to the ground, with its old scents and high ceilings and soft carpets, where little groups of Feathers can be heard passing overhead with the creaking of antique floorboards. She might feel she is cursed to destroy the homes that open themselves to her. Her wish was for freedom, wasn’t it, and can you be free if your home is still standing? Fendt Hope, the sprawling mass that shielded her from the burden of being alive. Azusa House, self-explanatory. Mikazuki Villa, a place of ghosts whose sole inhabitant now walks alone. Mifuyu might think wryly to herself, _I am quite good at ruining homes, and the happiness of anyone inside them._ But Mifuyu cannot see into the future.

There’s a gentle, grandmotherly smell that lingers in Fendt Hope. Like dust and tea and yellowed newspaper, it’s a scent that calms her down even at her weakest moments, when the urge to leave this place and the Magius and salvation behind is particularly strong. But there are responsibilities to fulfill. She made a promise, after all.

 _You made a promise to him,_ her mother screamed, _you made a promise to your father and I, and you’re throwing it all away. And for what, for what reason? You aren’t in college, you have no better prospects. What makes you think you can drop your responsibilities? Are you that selfish? Are you that stupid?_

She thinks vaguely of the fiance she left behind. He was quiet and well-read, smart enough to make her feel self-conscious. He liked baseball and boating and learning about World War II. Mel’s cards indicated that he would help keep her grounded, that he would provide security and stability. Stability sounded nice. So she kept meeting him, and having superficial conversation, and forcing herself to smile at his jokes, and being polite to his mother, and telling herself that he was not ugly, he was actually quite handsome in the right light, and with time and patience she might learn to love him and not just tolerate his presence. She kept meeting him up until Mel died, and Yachiyo split the team, and everything began to fall apart, just as it always does.

“Yes!” Alina shouts. “Yes, keep that face. It’s exactly what I’m looking for. Don’t dare to move a muscle.” 

Mifuyu is used to these kinds of exclamations from Alina while she’s deep in the midst of her work, so she does not react.

 _You could have worked it out,_ her mother shouted on the phone. Her voice wasn’t as loud as it could’ve been – she had been crying too much beforehand. _Instead of being a negligent coward, you could have tried to work things out. How do you think it makes us feel, knowing that you’ve disrespected us, that you’ve made us look boorish by raising such a self-centered daughter? All our lives we have catered to your every whim, and you turn around and spit in our faces like this. That man was your best shot, you know. You think we could find another man willing to overlook your flaws?_

Her flaws. Her mediocre grades. Her disinterest in the family business. Her laziness. Her lack of talent in any sort of athletics. Her short-lived success in her musical extracurriculars. Her absolute ineptitude in any sort of household chore. Her weight. Especially her weight, which her mother referenced on the daily. _You might have a pretty face, but most men will tell you that you are much too heavy._ Alina tells Mifuyu that she looks like a Renaissance Venus. It’s not Alina’s idea of a compliment – Mifuyu is genuinely unsure if Alina feels attached to any one human – but the idea of her weight being anything other than a burden is a new one. Maybe that’s why she still lets Alina sketch her. At least someone finds her attractive, even if it’s a deeply disturbed high schooler with a questionable grip on ethics.

Alina’s makeshift studio is covered in mirrors. They’re propped against armchairs, refracting off of each other, displaying greenish reflections bouncing off of each other ad infinitum. She does it so she can catch every angle, so she can draw different views without asking her model to reposition herself. In the mirror behind Alina, Mifuyu can catch the faintest glimpse of her easel. The swooping lines of charcoal depict Mifuyu’s crossed legs, her hands placed delicately on her knee. Something beautiful enough to immortalize in art. Perfect, even. 

Then again, Alina’s taste has always been off color.

Her phone buzzes again, lighting up with Mitama’s picture. Mifuyu sighs, and trying very hard not to move the muscles of her face, she says, “Hey Siri, read my messages, please.”  
Alina keeps working, not even bothering to look up as Mifuyu’s phone reads off her texts. _Message from Yakumo, Mitama. Hi Mifunyu. Mifuyu. Sorry. Autocorrect. Yachiyo visited Mirrors labyrinth todat. Sorry, today. Came and went quickly, I think she was looking for copies of you. Did not stay to chat with me you know how she is lately. Thought you ought to know. Come visit sometime. I will make sure you don’t run into anyone. Kiss emoji. Flower emoji. Kiss emoji. Heart with sparkles emoji. Would you like to reply?  
_ “No,” Mifuyu exhales.  
“Ah,” Alina sighs, perhaps too enthusiastically, “doesn’t that just give you goosebumps?”  
“How so?”  
“The spurned lover, hunting for a shallow duplicate of her loved one’s face, even in the heart of mortal peril. How chilling!”  
Mifuyu’s face turns bright red. “Alina! That’s not, Yacchan isn’t–”  
“Mifuyu!” Alina snaps. “Your chin! Stop drooping!”

And just like that, Alina is back to business. Reading Wikipedia is one thing, but the reality of Alina Gray is something else altogether. Mifuyu stares at a spot on the wallpaper and mulls over Mitama’s message, listening to the soft sounds of charcoal against paper. Yachiyo was looking for duplicates of her in Mirrors. Just for nostalgia? For interrogation, for investigation? The boss of the West has become an avid researcher, from what Mifuyu’s heard from the rumor mill. 

She hasn’t given up on Mifuyu, then. She still wants to see her face.

“Yes, that face again,” Alina says. She nods approvingly. “Keep that face up, Mifuyu. It’s exactly what I need.”

Mifuyu is tired of posing. She’s tired of being a ragdoll. She’s tired of receiving berating texts from her mother, tired of threats to cut her off financially and slice her out of the will. She’s tired of being holed away in Fendt Hope, eating microwaveable ramen out of styrofoam cups. She’s tired of whatever this life is, this meaningless blur of weeks and months. She’s tired of being herself. But Yachiyo isn’t tired of her yet.

Mifuyu sighs and stares at the wall.

  
  


☽❂☾

  
  


There is an unexpected guest in the living room when Yachiyo comes home from work.

A pair of brown loafers are sitting in the entryway as she hangs up her purse and slips on her house slippers. She doesn’t recognize them – Tsuruno’s, maybe? No, if Tsuruno was here she’d be able to hear her voice. Yachiyo ties her hair up in a scrunchie and walks into the den.

“I’m back.”  
“And remember, if you– ah, Yacchan!” Mifuyu looks over the back of the couch as Yachiyo opens the door to the living room. “Welcome home.”

Yachiyo looks to the other end of the room, where the elder Amane twin is perched in an armchair. Her hands are folded nervously in her lap, her cup of tea nearly untouched.

“I was wondering whose loafers those were,” Yachiyo says bluntly.  
Tsukuyo shoots to her feet. “I apologize for intruding!” she says, offering a stilted bow in Yachiyo’s direction. “I was merely passing by and thought I might pay Mifuyu a visit.”  
“I invited her,” Mifuyu clarifies. “Tsukuyo here wanted to discuss an idea she had for school, and since I’m an alumni she thought she’d run it past me.”

Yachiyo is in the kitchen now, removing a pan from the cupboard so she can make her dinner. There are two small plates and a couple of forks in the dish rack, pointing to the fact that these two have already eaten.

“You’ve had dinner already, Mifuyu?”  
“Tsukuyo was kind enough to bring over a bit of supper,” she confirms.  
“I’m very sorry if I’ve interfered at all,” says Tsukuyo.  
“For goodness’ sake, Tsukuyo, you can sit down,” Mifuyu tells her.  
“Yes. I’m sorry.”

The stovetop _click-click-clicks_ before the burner lights up. Yachiyo tosses a bit of onion and garlic onto the pan, and the room fills with its fragrance. 

“Well, what’s this big school project you’re working on?” asks Yachiyo.  
Tsukuyo blinks, looking between the two of them. She seems unsure if she’s allowed to speak, but Mifuyu nods at her. “Oh, um. Well. Considering that the Kamihama Magia Union has been a success so far, I was hoping to maybe, erm, establish something similar at Mizuna Girl’s School. Perhaps, well, not a _club_ , per se, but a smaller union of magical girls who attend the school.”  
“Don’t you think that encourages other schools to form their own cliques?” Yachiyo asks. “The idea is unity, after all.”  
Mifuyu intervenes. “I was thinking that it might benefit Sana. It might make her feel less lonely at school if she had a way to connect with other magical girls who can see her. It could give her further motivation to go to class.”  
Yachiyo pauses. “I remember her coming home quite rattled one day because someone bumped into her at school and apologized to her. She was afraid she had become visible.” She takes a spatula from the drawer. “Yes, I suppose it could benefit her.”  
“The problem is that many girls in Mizuna were never involved with the Magius, so I am having a bit of trouble persuading many students to ‘join,’ if you will.” Tsukuyo fiddles with her thumbs. “I’ve spoken to Yukika, but a great many girls are reluctant to trust me.”  
“You might want to speak directly to Sana, then,” Yachiyo says from behind the stove. “She could help you out with recruiting other students.”  
“I prefer to refrain from using the term ‘recruit,’” Tsukuyo falters. “The idea is more casual than that. There are also… well, undesirable students to whom I am reluctant to extend an invitation.”  
“You mean like Hanna,” Mifuyu says after a sip from her mug. “I’ve heard stories about that girl. Very sad.”  
“Precisely.”  
“Well, why don’t I tell Sana when she gets home that you’re looking to put together a school club for magical girls?”  
Tsukuyo blushes. “It’s not a club!”  
“Of course, of course,” Mifuyu says with a wave of her hand. “I’m sure she’ll be receptive, Sana is a very open-minded girl.”  
“I hope that we can continue to be allies,” she replies. “I will be graduating soon enough, and it would make me happy to know that the school has a small union of students. I think it would help unite the girls who feel isolated from their peers.”  
“It’s important to have a safety net,” Mifuyu agrees. “It’s very responsible of you to spearhead this idea, Tsukuyo.”  
Her face burns a darker shade of red. “Thank you for your input, Mifuyu.”  
“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

Yachiyo is half-listening, busy now with preparing her dinner. She takes the occasional glance at them from across the breakfast bar, watching their body language. Tsukuyo looks visibly uncomfortable to be here under Yachiyo’s gaze, which makes her feel a little awkward.

“I really should be heading home, or my grandmother will complain,” Tsukuyo says. She stands again, fidgeting with the hems of her sleeves. “Thank you again for hosting me, Mifuyu.”  
“You’re welcome any time, Tsukuyo. Thank you for dinner.”  
Tsukuyo winces, taking a moment to rub her knee. “Yes, of course.”  
Yachiyo pipes up. “What’s the matter with your leg?” she says, making Tsukuyo jump.  
“Oh! I merely get a twinge in it from time to time. It is nothing to be concerned about.”  
“It’s just a pain she gets from when you _broke her legs,_ Yacchan,” Mifuyu says over the brim of her mug, her eyes narrowed.   
Yachiyo blinks. “I see. I apologize for the inconvenience.”  
“No, it really is all right.” Tsukuyo shakes her head. “You did what you had to do.”  
“I could’ve restrained myself,” replies Yachiyo.  
“Yes, Yacchan, you could’ve.”  
“It is truly, sincerely all right!” she insists, throwing up her hands. “I don’t mean to cause any fuss. Really, I should be heading home.” She fumbles for her bookbag.  
“Would you like a walk to the bus stop?” Mifuyu asks.  
“No, thank you. I’ll be quite all right.”  
“Thank you for stopping by,” Yachiyo says, carefully controlling her tone. “And thank you for thinking about Sana. I hope your leg is all right.”  
Tsukuyo blushes. “Thank you, Miss Nanami. I will be seeing myself off now.”

Mifuyu walks her to the door, and for a while she peers out of the living room blinds until she disappears. Then she collects Tsukuyo’s mug and pours it out in the drain.

“That smells good, Yacchan. Can I have a bite?”  
“Maybe, if I’m feeling nice,” Yachiyo teases. She takes the pan off the burner. “Does Tsukuyo’s leg really still bother her?”  
“I don’t think the Feather who healed her knew what she was doing. Or perhaps she wanted to keep a reminder of the pain.” Mifuyu taps her chin. “Tsukuyo has always been very harsh on herself.”

Breaking a high schooler’s legs was not her best moment. It was childish of her to take out her rage on them, even if they were being awfully annoying. Yachiyo feels a pang of remorse, then tries to stamp it out.

“In any case, I’m glad she’s doing well.”  
“They’re trying. Both of them are. Their lives are hard enough as it is, so turning over a new leaf has been a challenge.”  
Yachiyo frowns, then takes the pan to the sink and rinses the char from its surface. “I understand. They’re just kids, after all.”  
“They’re Tsuruno’s age.”  
“I always forget that. They have a certain petulance about them that makes them seem younger.”  
“Ah, Yacchan, you’re trying to rile me up.”  
“Maybe so.”

Yachiyo plates her dinner, and together they head back to the couch. Mifuyu turns the TV on for background noise, nearly muted, and they idly eat and drink while watching a news story about a neighborhood revitalization project in Sakae Ward. Their reflections shimmer in the surface of the glass coffee table. Mifuyu stretches her legs across the cushions and rests the back of her head against Yachiyo’s shoulder.

“I wonder when the girls are coming home,” Mifuyu says after a while.  
“They’re being held hostage at Banbanzai, according to Iroha,” replies Yachiyo. “We get the house to ourselves for a little while longer.”  
“That sounds nice,” she sighs contentedly.   
“You know,” Yachiyo says, “if you really want to keep hosting former Feathers, it’s okay. I don’t exactly want the house hopping with people, but don’t feel like you have to do it around my schedule.”  
Mifuyu reaches back and pats Yachiyo’s leg. “Thank you, Yacchan. I think it’s been hard for many of them, not having someone to talk to. I was sort of their camp counselor, in a way. I like to think that my being available makes it easier for them to adjust.”  
“It’s very responsible of you.”  
“Oh, you’re just making fun of me.”  
“Usually, yes. But this time I mean it.”

Mifuyu nudges her shoulder, and the two of them settle back in to watch TV. The living room smells like garlic and pepper, and the grandfather clock announces the hour. Mikazuki Villa is quiet for just this short while, before the house is filled once more with the sounds of footsteps and laughter. 

Yachiyo finds herself wishing that the house could be like this all the time. A serene refuge, a place for solitude and rest. Mifuyu sighs beside her, that telltale sign that she’s about to fall asleep, and Yachiyo feels truly, wonderfully, warmly content.

  
  


☽❂☾

  
  


At the end of everything, after it’s all over, there is nothing but black. A lonesome expanse without light nor shadow, without time nor depth. This place is one that few have seen, that few will ever see, and Mifuyu shares it with the monster inside her soul gem.

“Well,” Mifuyu says after a very long time, “here we are.”  
 _Here we are_ , says the monster, _and are you happy with this outcome?_

The monster inside her soul gem has a slow and deep voice, like it’s speaking with a bunch of marbles rolling around in its mouth. Each word is an effort. To Mifuyu, it almost seems as if it’s speaking another language, but has somehow been translated in real time so that she can understand its speech. It should not be able to speak, Mifuyu thinks. It is perverse and uncanny that this thing may hold conversation.

“You’re not trying to come out,” Mifuyu observes.  
 _How would I?_ says the thing. That great, shifting, starchy pile of laundry, an indistinct mass, strangely faceless. _How could I hope to come out when you’ve gone and cracked your soul gem?_

Mifuyu’s heart catches in her throat. Her soul gem. _Yacchan._ It all comes flooding back – Fendt Hope, the Magius, that final taboo magic.

 _There, are you satisfied knowing that you’ve left her behind for the last time?  
_ She can feel herself sweating. “Am I dead?”  
_I don’t know. Do you feel dead?_

Mifuyu does not have a particular idea of what the afterlife should be, much less for a magical girl. Perhaps they aren’t able to ascend to the other side, to reincarnate as something better, rejoined with lovers and family and friends. Maybe when your soul is encased inside this jewel, you are isolated from the grand network of souls called humanity. Cast off, doomed to a purgatory of eternal loneliness. What a horrible fate.

 _Well, no use in crying about it,_ says the thing.  
“This is worse than death,” Mifuyu says at last, “being stuck here with you.”  
_I am you_ , it insists.  
“You are not me, you are my Doppel.”  
_Yes. I am you.  
_ “You can’t be me, you’re _you_ , you’re just a great big ugly mass of fabric. I bet you don’t even have a name, because it certainly isn’t mine.”  
_No. My name is Hevelius.  
_ Mifuyu was not aware that witches had names. “I don’t want to be trapped here with you, Hevelius.”  
_Your wish was for freedom. Every wish has its consequence._

Fendt Hope was Mifuyu’s final home, and she’s gone and destroyed it. Maybe it truly is her curse to doom every door that opens itself to her. _I am quite good at ruining homes,_ she thinks again to herself, _could that truly be what I wished for when I wished for freedom?  
_ _Of course it was,_ Hevelius says, its mass of fabrics rustling. At the center of its “face” is a gilded birdcage, and its door rattles open and shut as the Doppel rearranges itself. _One who is truly free cannot belong to a home. The idea is a paradox.  
_ “I didn’t wish to be homeless, I just wanted…”  
 _You didn’t want to be tied down, to face the burdens of expectation and reality, because in the end you are just a child, and a child cannot bear to be told what to do. Well, you went and fulfilled that wish. And now you have no home at all.  
_ Mifuyu buries her face in her hands. “Oh, Yacchan. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”  
 _No use apologizing, little one,_ Hevelius says in its warbling mouth-full-of-marbles voice. _She can’t very well hear you, now can she?_

To be trapped here forever, with neither love nor sunlight, to be here forever without ever seeing Yachiyo again. This must truly be her hell, then. A worthy punishment for all the pain and grief she’s caused during her brief life.

“I must deserve this,” Mifuyu says.  
 _How unfortunate that you never wrote your final will.  
_“It doesn’t matter anymore. I have nothing left. Everything’s been destroyed.”  
_You have no final words for your family, then? How selfish.  
_“You sound like my mother.”

Mifuyu tries to remember what she wrote in her last letter, the final will she wrote before disappearing from Yachiyo’s life. Surely she’s opened the envelope by now – surely she allowed herself to think the worst, that maybe Mifuyu was dead after all – and read her last will and testament. What did she write? She can’t recall.

“I really let her down,” she sighs, folding into herself. “It wasn’t worth it. If I knew I’d end up here, trapped with _you_ , I wouldn’t have done it.”  
 _That’s a touching sentiment, but you cannot grow as you are now. Not here. You will be a child forever.  
_“I _can._ I can _too_ grow.”  
_Not here, you can’t.  
_“It’s not fair. Yacchan changed so much since I left her. She became… better, warmer, somehow. She became an adult without me. I haven’t changed at all.”  
_No, you didn’t. You simply ran away and wrecked all your homes in your wake. Wrecked your family’s home, wrecked the Villa, wrecked your darling Yachiyo._

Yachiyo, Mifuyu’s final home. _Yacchan is my home,_ Mifuyu thinks to herself. Her chest feels cold, then hot. She reaches for the necklace at her throat, but there’s nothing there. _Yacchan is my home. Not a house, but a person. She’s who I belong with._

 _Not anymore,_ Hevelius says. A ripple of irritation passes through its many colorful layers. _You have already ended that chapter. Your home is here now, with me.  
_ “No! It can’t be. This can’t be the end!”  
_Would you rather go back to your old life? All of your old allies are fighting an incomprehensible evil as we speak. You are far too weak to contribute, you could not hope to help them. You will only hold them back.  
_ “It’s partially my fault that Eve grew to her current size. I should be out there helping them fight.”  
_You cannot fight because you are too fragile. Would you rather die a second death? Or else live to see your community ostracize you for what you’ve done? If you survive this, they will simply lock you away. They will place you far from civilization to live out the rest of your days, just like those little lunatics you assisted and enabled.  
_ “No!”  
_Yes, and in your solitude you will not last. Your wish was for freedom – despair will consume you, just as it comes for everyone. And I will come to replace you, and you will be no more.  
_ “No, I can’t accept that.”  
_You don’t have to accept it, it is the truth. There will just be me. You will be lost, just as Mel was.  
_ “Keep her name out of your mouth, you horrible creature!”  
_Don’t you think Yachiyo will be better off without you reminding her of her terrible past? Perhaps it’s better you stay here, with me. You won’t be able to inflict any more pain.  
_ “I don’t want to leave her alone,” Mifuyu weeps. She clutches her face. “After everything she’s done for me, I can’t leave her. Not when she refused to give up on me.”  
_She got over Kanae, and she got over Mel. She will get over you, too. She has already replaced you.  
_ “Even if she doesn’t want me by her side…” Mifuyu wipes her eyes, balling her hands into fists. “Even if she doesn’t want me, I want to survive. I want to keep living, to make it up to her.”  
_Do you really mean that?  
_ “Yes! Of course I mean it!”  
_If you are released from this place, can you find it in yourself to do the work? Or will you let yourself run away again?_

As Hevelius says this, the door to its gilded birdcage flies open. A number of paper-thin birds fly out, honking like geese and flapping their frail wings. They fly towards Mifuyu in a mass, and she throws up her arms to shield her face. They whip past her, flying into the dark depths, scratching her arms and legs with papercuts. They honk and squawk and squall, and after a while Hevelius ceases its tirade. The birdcage shuts, and the air is filled with the distant echoing of hundreds of birds.

 _You cannot leave this place,_ it says with finality. _This is your place of penance. Accept it.  
_ “No,” Mifuyu spits. She stands, her skin stinging with the scrapes of so many geese. “No, I won’t accept it. I want to go home. I want Yacchan. Let me go, _now._ ”  
_I cannot let you go,_ Hevelius replies. _Your soul gem is cracked.  
_“But I’m not dead yet. For whatever reason, my gem hasn’t shattered. I haven’t met with Kanae’s fate. There must be hope for me, there must be some way I can make it out of here.”

Mifuyu looks up, searching the black for something beyond it. Something past the blanket of darkness, without light nor shadow. There has to be a way out. She can’t stay in this terrible place, this place where she will never see Yachiyo’s face again.

“There has to be a way out of here,” she says again. Not to Hevelius, but just to herself.  
 _Well,_ it says, unimpressed, _we will just have to wait and see._

  
  


☽❂☾

An old record is playing in the living room of Mikazuki Villa, the fledglings are in bed for the night, and Mifuyu and Yachiyo are dancing.

In her youth, Yachiyo’s grandmother liked to collect obscure and vintage records. There are dusty, yellowed records piled away in the cabinets – collections by Mitsuko Watanabe, Meiko Kaji, Ichiro Fujiyama. She had eclectic taste, as evidenced by all the music kept locked away. After a few too many sips of cranberry juice and antique vodka, Mifuyu flips through the old music collections and puts on a Michiko Namiki album. 

The notes are distorted by grain, the old tinny sound of 40s recording. It’s a nostalgic, gentle sound that reminds Yachiyo of a black and white movie, of some romantic and mythic past that never truly existed. A romping orchestra fills the room, and the two of them dance hand in hand. Out of the two of them, Yachiyo might be the strict one, but occasionally she will allow herself these instances of levity. She feels like they’re in some grand old ballroom, where drinks are served in little flutes and a group of men in suits are playing trumpets and clarinets.

“We really are romping too loudly,” Mifuyu says with a slight slur, “if we aren’t careful, we’ll wake the boarders.”  
“How boorish we are,” Yachiyo agrees, “how rude, and unladylike, and horrid.”  
“How can we call ourselves grown-ups, dancing around like children?”

Yachiyo spins Mifuyu, who thankfully catches herself before she can tumble onto the couch. They stifle their laughter, hushing one another insistently even though they’re making the same amount of noise.

“You had better not collapse in my bed after this,” Yachiyo warns her. “You stretch way too much, and you take up all the space. I want at least a _few_ hours’ sleep before class tomorrow.”  
“You are awfully presumptuous as ever!” Mifuyu has grown accustomed to Grandmother’s disgusting vintage liquor, and she adopts a silly accent as the night goes on. “I take up my equal portion of the bed, Yacchan, and just for that I shall be slumbering in my own chambers.”  
“I see why Grandma locked up her alcohol,” Yachiyo says, “you are even more ridiculous than normal.”  
“I think _you_ are ridiculous.”  
“We can be ridiculous together.”  
“That suits me just fine.”

A fuzzy, grainy choral refrain plays on the record player. The needle skips a bit, causing pops of static in the music. They entwine their fingers together, occasionally bumping their shins against the coffee table and armchairs. Felicia has left some of her things down here, homework and novelty pencil erasers and batteries for her game console. Sana’s bookbag sits on the floor, and Ui’s mug of chocolate milk still sits at the breakfast bar. All little hints that there are children to be cared for here, responsibilities and expectations and moral obligations. But for tonight, the grown ups of Mikazuki Villa are allowing themselves some fun.

“You don’t _really_ mind if I sleep in your room, do you Yacchan?”  
“Ah, see, I knew you were planning on taking up the whole bed.”  
They keep dancing, shuffling from side to side, but Mifuyu’s face snaps into a more serious expression. “Really, I mean it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Things aren’t like they used to be.”  
Yachiyo feigns ignorance. “How do you mean?”  
“I still haven’t answered you.”  
“I know. I don’t expect you to.”  
“But you will, eventually.”

The song fades out, and another begins. It’s a raucous, lively hodgepodge of brass and percussion, and despite the dip in their mood, their feet continue to _one-two-step, one-two-step._ Mifuyu’s grip on Yachiyo’s hands slackens.

“It isn’t fair that I’ve kept you waiting.”  
“We have a lot to take care of, Mifuyu. I understand – it’s not a priority.”  
“You keep saying that,” sighs Mifuyu, “but there’s a difference between what goes on out _there_ and what goes on in _here_. It’s staring us right in the faces, and we won’t acknowledge it.”  
“Mifuyu…”  
“So I think it’s time I say something.”

Yachiyo’s heart pounds. The way she says it, the resigned look on her face – oh no, oh _no,_ this isn’t how she wanted this to end. Surely this is the final ending to all the time they’ve spent together. Yachiyo has pressured her, has made her uncomfortable, and now Mifuyu will pack up her things and move into some Satomi-owned apartment and never come back, and that will be that. The two of them will grow apart, their partnership forgotten to time.

“Do you want to sit down?” Yachiyo asks.  
“No, let’s keep going like this. It’s fun, and it makes me less anxious.” They dance in a circle around a green armchair, and Yachiyo allows herself to be spun around Mifuyu’s finger.   
“Okay, well, what do you want to say?”  
“Oh, I’m really on the spot now.” Mifuyu laughs nervously. “You know I’m not great at big speeches. It always took me so long to write my letters… I’m just not very good with words.”  
“It’s okay, just take your time.”  
Mifuyu takes a deep breath, then slowly exhales. “I think… I think, oh gosh. I think, I am prepared to… what am I even saying?” She clears her throat and starts over. “I think I, um, reciprocate, your feelings.”

Yachiyo blinks very hard, and then she bashes her foot against the leg of the coffee table.

“ _Ow_!” she hisses.  
“Yacchan! Are you all right?”  
Yachiyo collapses onto the couch. “Yes, I’m fine. _Damn_ , that hurt.”  
“You’re not changing the subject on me, are you?”  
“No, no, of course not…” Yachiyo winces and settles into the cushions. Mifuyu sits beside her, her hands on her lap. “Have you been thinking about this for a while?”  
“Since you told me, basically. I haven’t been able to _stop_ thinking about it.”  
Yachiyo blushes. “That’s… embarrassing for me, to say the least.”  
“I’m sorry! I know this probably isn’t how you expected things to shake out.”  
“That’s an understatement.”

Another song fades out and is gradually replaced. This one is slow and wavering. The vocals come in slowly, brooding and emotional. It isn’t something one could dance to.

“I know that if I spent any longer dwelling on it, I would overthink things like I always do. And then eventually, I wouldn’t be able to trust my own feelings.” Mifuyu wrings her hands. “So I think it’s better that I clear the air now, before I can begin to doubt myself. Saying things out loud always makes it seem more real, you know?”  
Yachiyo’s ears are buzzing, and she’s not entirely sure she’s absorbing the full meaning of her words. “Sure, I suppose.”  
“I think about how desperate I was when we were kids… desperate to be loved, to have what they had in the storybooks. Desperate for approval, for somewhere to belong. It sounds awfully corny when I say it like this, but I think I was looking so hard because I didn’t want to admit that it was right in front of my face.”  
“You’re right, that’s terribly corny.”  
“Yacchan!"   
“I’m not making fun of you, I promise. I’m just nervous.”  
“That makes two of us.”  
Absentmindedly, Mifuyu sways a bit to the record. “That’s all I wanted to say. I’ve thought about it, and thought some more, and I feel that our feelings are on the same page.”

 _I doubt it,_ Yachiyo thinks to herself. _You are only just figuring it out, and I have been wallowing in this feeling for years and years._ But she doesn’t say this out loud. To say so feels cruel and invalidating to Mifuyu’s feelings.

“So,” Yachiyo says after a moment, “what now?”  
Mifuyu blinks, then tugs on her hair. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan it out this far.”  
“Maybe…” she replies slowly, “maybe, we should just play it by ear. We don’t have to map things out on paper.”  
“That sounds good. I think that works.” Mifuyu laughs. “Here I am, stuffing my head full of novels, and I’ve come to expect fireworks and earth-shattering revelations. This is much more… realistic.”

 _Oh, no, oh no,_ Yachiyo frets, _you’ve bored her. She expects something entirely different, and here you are looking at her blankly like a dead fish. This isn’t romantic at all._

“I feel like I should be doing something grander,” Yachiyo says with an anxious smile. “You probably weren’t anticipating this reaction.”  
“You seem surprised,” agrees Mifuyu.  
“I am! I am surprised. I didn’t… I _really_ didn’t expect things to end like this.”  
“Like you said, we should just play it by ear.”  
“Right. Take things a step at a time.”  
Mifuyu tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’ve been thinking a lot about when we were thirteen, and I asked you to kiss me. Do you remember that?”  
Yachiyo laughs a little. “Yes, I remember. We were so awkward.”  
“I was thinking, it was very unfair for me to ask that of you.”  
“We were just kids, Mifuyu. We didn’t know what we were doing.”  
“We’re not kids anymore, though.” She rocks back and forth on her knees, visibly anxious. “Would you, perhaps, want to try again?”  
Yachiyo inhales sharply. “Are you comfortable with that?”  
“I think so.”

What follows is not the most awkward or hesitant human interaction in documented history, but it comes close. Yachiyo angles herself toward Mifuyu, who scoots herself closer to her. Yachiyo is used to being looked at – examined, even – but this is different. It’s the precursor to a memory one would tell their children and their grandchildren, and the full gravity of the situation crashes down on her. _This is very important,_ she tells herself, _do not screw this up_ , and she continues to berate herself up until the moment that Mifuyu kisses her. 

Yachiyo’s face is too numb with nerves to make heads or tails of what it feels like, whether good or bad, so she throws caution to the wind and just leans into it. She passes her hand through Mifuyu’s hair, resting it at the nape of her neck, and must manually take a breath before she passes out. After what feels like a very long moment, Mifuyu draws her face away. Her face is flushed pink.

“I don’t think I’m much better than when I was thirteen,” she says.  
“It was fine. It was normal,” Yachiyo blurts.  
“Yacchan!”  
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” She leans forward and takes Mifuyu’s shoulders, rubbing them reassuringly. “I’m kidding, Mifuyu. I’m glad.”  
Mifuyu hides her face behind her hands. “I’m so embarrassed. I don’t think you’ll be able to take me anywhere.”  
“We’ll just take it a step at a time,” Yachiyo repeats. “We could start tomorrow, even. Would you care to join me for dinner out on the town, o eligible Miss Azusa?”  
Mifuyu’s face is bright pink, susceptible as always to being wooed. “If my busy schedule permits it, perhaps I may join you for supper, Miss Nanami.”  
“Oh! I didn’t like that, don’t call me Miss Nanami,” Yachiyo shudders.  
“No problem at all, Yacchan.”

With this, she leans forward again and flings her arms around Yachiyo’s shoulders. The two of them share a long kiss, a little more self-assured but nonetheless awkward. Neither of them are entirely sure what to do, and that’s just fine – it makes them feel a little less silly to both be so ignorant. 

The record reaches the end of its tracklist and begins to make a series of grainy popping sounds as the needle continues to skim its surface. The newfound quiet in the room brings attention to the sound of the living room door creaking open, and the two of them lurch to attention. It’s too late for her to hide – Felicia is peering into the den, her face stricken with shock.

“Felicia!” Yachiyo yips as Mifuyu untangles herself from her. “You scared us half to death. Why aren’t you in bed?”  
Felicia points to the sink, then to them, then to the sink again. “I was… I… water…”  
Very rarely is Felicia ever at a loss for words. Yachiyo feels a little ashamed, then straightens her shoulders as she slips into the persona of Strict Boarding House Matron. “Fetch your water and head to bed, you have an early start tomorrow.”  
She pauses, then shouts a choked “Yes!”

Scuttling across the kitchen, Felicia fills her mug with ice water from the fridge and then slides across the floor in her socks. Before she leaves, she casts them another look, her face bright red.

“Are you… um, are you and White Lady…?”  
“Go to bed, please, Felicia, or you’ll be very tired,” Mifuyu says with an air of finality.  
“Yes!” Felicia squeaks, then dashes upstairs.

As her footsteps fade, Mifuyu and Yachiyo burst into laughter.

“Oh, the poor thing! We’ve scared a few years off her life, haven’t we?” Mifuyu says, wiping a tear from her eye.  
“She’ll get over it,” Yachiyo laughs, “she’s a resilient kid.”

The living room is silent now – no music, no children, and very soon the clock will strike one in the morning. Mifuyu settles into Yachiyo’s chest, and she strokes the short white cowlicks of her hair.

“Do you think things will be very different from now on?” Mifuyu asks.  
Yachiyo makes an indecisive sound. “I think it will only be different if we force it to be different. I like the way things are now.”  
Mifuyu exhales through her nose, content. “Me too. I _really_ like the way things are.”  
“This doesn’t mean you can take up the entire bed, you know.”  
“Ah, Yacchan, you’re cool as ever.”

What can be said about this moment? How could it be described? Yachiyo would call this “right,” “correct,” the long-awaited future that she dreamt of in her teenaged whimsies. Something unattainable and impossible, finally earned. It feels surreal, as many things these days do. But somehow, it’s the most solid thing she has to hang onto. Out of everything that’s changing and evolving lately, this is something she can rely on. Something steadfast and honest.

“I love you, Yacchan,” Mifuyu pipes up meekly. She peeks up at Yachiyo for approval. “Is that okay? Am I being too forward?”  
“It’s okay,” replies Yachiyo. “I love you, too. You already knew that.”

There’s a mirror on the opposite wall that makes the room feel bigger, and it reflects their embrace as they lie together on the couch. It portrays something lovely, Yachiyo thinks. Two women who are comfortable at last, who have grown up and learned from one another and finally arrived at the end of the finish line.

Yachiyo squeezes Mifuyu’s hand. _This is right,_ she thinks to herself. _This is what we deserve._


End file.
